


Damned Creatures Such as We

by Sylver_Midnight



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Revolution, Angst, Cold War, England's A+ Parenting (Hetalia), Fake Marriage, Historical, Historical Hetalia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Platonic Romance, Revolutionary War, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29190936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylver_Midnight/pseuds/Sylver_Midnight
Summary: "No one really knows how this road will end. Certainly not them. Perhaps it will be two nations watching the sun set on their empires and wondering where the time went. Wondering if every action was worth it and knowing they can never take it back. They can only hope that God will deliver them through each nightmare, and that on the other side the one who holds their everlasting affections will be waiting. Two damned creatures such as they are."The story of four nations and how their relationships develop over time, told through the eyes of England and America. This is a story of pain, loss, and perhaps even hope.
Relationships: America/Germany (Hetalia), America/Russia (Hetalia), China/Russia (Hetalia), England/Japan (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. The Birth of an Heir

**Author's Note:**

> The following text may contain information and events that are troubling to some viewers such as: talk of death and immortality, child abandonment, colonization, war, persecution of witches, and the hanging of a child (mentioned, temporary death.). If you find any of this to be upsetting in any way please turn away. Otherwise thank you and enjoy.

**1606**

**London, England**

  


The candlelight casts strange shadows on the wall and across the floor. They were half melted now, lit several hours before in the first breath of twilight. The only sound in the large room is the scratching of a quill as the British Empire works. He has not looked up in several hours now, absorbed in some personal manuscript about his time at sea and his most recent exploits. He wouldn’t be here long; the mainland held no attraction for a man like Arthur Kirkland. This office— with its wooden desk and plush chairs and lined bookcases— could never account for what was out there waiting. But he understands the necessity; he was needed here, at least on rare occasions. He was quite certain that the royalty could handle things on their own, but his advice was highly regarded and there was always the matter of his own kind to deal with. Always a careful dance that was.

Perturbed eyes flick up only momentarily as a knock rang out, muffled by a clearly nervous human’s hesitance. He made it quite clear he preferred not to be bothered, but sometimes it simply couldn’t be helped. He moves languidly, not concerned with the time it takes to return his quill to its well or with the moment he takes to run his hand through his hair and crack his stiff joints. For a moment his eyes sweep the room and he realizes how late it has become in his absentmindedness. This had better be important.

When the door is eventually opened, it reveals the frightened face of a messenger boy, and Arthur can’t help but smirk just slightly. He’s aware of just how intimidating his stance and appearance can be; he’d spent much of his life perfecting it. A nation got nowhere without first establishing themselves as capable and potentially threatening. Anything else was likely to get you killed quickly.

“I...I apologize for disturbing you sir, I know it’s quite a late hour and–” Arthur hums softly in agreement, a simple sound to hurry the boy along. He hadn’t the time to waste on such things. Or rather he hadn’t the time to waste on human children’s blabbering. “But you’d made mention you wished to know of any correspondence from France—“

The poor boy barely had time to offer up the letter in his hands before Arthur snatched it from him, eyes growing more tempestuous at the sight of it. What could that horrid wretch of a man want now? His hands slide over the seal, thick with dried wax that’s carved with a fancy seal. He looks in disgust a moment more before turning his attention back to the boy, undoubtedly waiting for an extra payment for the late hour. He simply waves him away with disinterest.

“Go on. I don’t have anything for you.” A lie but it served well enough— the boy scrambled off down the hall as if someone had lit his trousers on fire. He didn’t have a problem admitting it was amusing.

Once the messenger was out of sight, he returned to his office, using the heel of his boot to close the door behind him. He hadn’t the time to pause in opening the object of his disdain. No doubt this would be some plea for assistance or money. France didn’t have much of a reason to contact him other than that; he was certain he’d made that clear.

Arthur slides his letter opener through the seal and removes the creased page within. It was stiff and somewhat crinkled. No doubt it had waited several months for his return back to the mainland. Good. It gave him some simple satisfaction to know that he had kept that frog waiting this long. Though such things weren’t exactly uncommon and were usually planned for when using written correspondence. 

The ink is a warm blue, matching the wax on the envelope, and undoubtedly in France’s looping writing. He rolls his eyes as he begins to read, preparing for bad news or something equally taxing. However, within a few moments, he pauses. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened. Had he been a weaker man his hands may have shook. Yet, he was not, so instead he sat on the top of his desk in a most uncivilized manner to keep from falling in shock.

A child. New France had borne a child. Canada, he was calling himself, and if France was to be believed he had been living on his own for some time. He places the page on the desktop and runs a hand down his face with a heavy sigh. This letter was a good four to five months old. That child was long lost to him for certain, but the new world as a whole was not. He’d been in and out of it for a while now, but he hadn’t considered that a colony there would be that successful. He’d have to consider it.

He once again takes up the page, knowing he had to continue with it despite his anger and misjudgment. If he had found the boy first...Well, according to France he was mild mannered and a bit shy. He had taken to French easily but apparently knew a little English as well, much to Arthur’s amusement and France’s disdain. He was also welcome to see the child if he wished, Matthew...That’s what they were going to call him apparently. He would possibly make the trip eventually but he saw little use at the moment. France was merely attempting to brag, was he not?

Absentmindedly, he flipped the page over, simply checking the back for more information before tossing it in a drawer somewhere to be forgotten. He hesitates however when the dying candlelight catches on a continuation, or perhaps a hastily scribbled note after the rest of the letter had been completed.

Arthur purses his lip and his features are pulled into a frown. This was odd, and not at all like France. That man had to have everything perfectly in place before sending a letter. He wasn’t one for sloppy ill thought out information. The note read as follows,

“I hesitate to give you this information, and could have easily kept it to myself. Frankly speaking, Angleterre, I do not trust you, but you have the right to know. There is rumor that the land titled Virginia has also produced a child of our kind. I cannot confirm this but I will not call Finland a liar to his face. I myself would return for the boy as I know how incapable you are of taking care of yourself– let alone a child. But I have my hands full with little Matthieu. Anything would be better than that poor child out on his own any longer.”

His head felt light and once again he was forced to place the paper aside to hold his head in his hands. The British Empire had yet to produce a viable child, no matter how often and hard he had tried. He had lost more than he would care to admit, their pale empty faces haunted him when he tried to sleep. Their cold hands and tiny bodies felt unreal in his arms when they passed and he had promised he would not try again after the last. It wasn’t fair but he had come to terms with it.

But now everything could be different. A child older than a newborn. Borne of land he had been looking at claiming for his own for a long time now. Viable land, that with proper care could grow and prosper…This was reality and he could not get his head around that simple fact. There was so much to be done, so much to consider. A trip to retrieve the child could be costly, and if it proved fruitless...But if he didn’t and Finland got to him first...No. He simply could not risk that.

In his opinion, colonies were the lifeblood of their existence. The children they produced so rarely were valuable in an indescribable way. It meant survival. It meant success. Strength enough to prevail. And the Empire needed an heir even if he never truly intended to pass on his crown. He could not waste time and he could not pass up the presented opportunity, despite the fact that it was bound to turn some heads.

The New World presented so many opportunities. It was an adventure of sorts and something in him was alight with the idea. Though he had only been home a matter of weeks, he would be heading out to sea again. The smell of salt clinging to everything and the wind whipping through the sails. The thought caused a grin to split across his face and his eyes almost seemed to glow with an inhuman light. 

He extinguished the candles with gloved fingers, making sure to compose himself as he tucked the letter away in his breast pocket. He still had an image to uphold– despite the wild bloodthirsty thing that he was. He did not wish to frighten the humans at such a late hour; it may scar them permanently. Such fragile things.

He leaves the office with quiet, even steps– shoulders back, standing tall. Every man in London could tell what this look meant. The closest was simply just the one unfortunate enough to see it.

“Fetch my coat and inform my crew. We set sail at dawn.”

And whether any of them knew it or not, the world was shifting beneath their feet. History in the making even all these years before, set in motion by a lucky set of events. Nothing would ever be the same again. For any of them.

  


**1607**

**The British Colony of Virginia**

  


Blue. Everything was blue and even now he could not shake the image as if it was seared into his brain. It had taken him so long to find the babe, he had almost given up hope. Though the land was beautiful, and as he walked through the woods he’d been able to see the potential of it...He had feared the child simply didn’t exist.

But as the sun began to dip low– bleeding red, orange, and violet into the warm crystalline sky– he had come across a field of wildflowers. From within the tall grasses, two eyes peered back at him and he was certain his heart had still not returned to beating. He had never expected to fall for the child so quickly. Or ever. But those eyes were so wide and deep and...Unsettling. He had been through so much already Arthur was certain, and though Finland had suggested otherwise the boy didn’t seem at all frightened.

“You’re Britain. Aren’t you?” The way his voice rang out through the clearing, first with a fact and only then stopping to question himself...Yes, the boy was strong. Stronger than any of the other colonies he’d met and he was only a babe of two or three.

“Yes.” He said as he knelt to his level. Just because he didn’t seem frightened didn’t mean he wasn’t and he wasn’t going to risk losing him. Not now after everything he’d gone through. And not before he figured out just what made this child so special. “And you? What do they call you?”

The boy looked pensive for a moment, the silence felt deafening, only the sound of the wind ruffling their hair. Those blue eyes left him for a moment and focused on the rabbit in his arms. Arthur had failed to notice the creature at all. Had...Had he caught that? Eventually, he looks back up to answer. “They call me America. I think I like that name.”

Thought he liked that name? Did that mean it was new…? Arthur simply did not know what to think. Had someone else called this child by a different name? Where was that caretaker now? “Do...Are you alone out here?”

The boy nods, those knowing eyes dull and not at all moved by his apparent loneliness. “Yes but...You’re here now! I’ve been thinking about myself a lot lately...And learning things.” He sounded much too proud for a mere babe. But Arthur couldn’t help but smile anyway.

“Yes. I’m here now, and if you’d like you won’t have to be alone again. You could have a proper home and a proper name.” He offers. He assumed the child had already discovered what he was. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. The connection they felt to the land and others of their kind was easy enough to grasp.

The boy however simply laughs, a melodic sound that makes Arthur want to smile. He knows he mustn’t get so attached but just watching him makes him want to hand over the world. To teach him, to care for him, to protect him from all the others whom he knew would seek to corrupt him. “I have a name.” He says happily gazing up at Arthur from the patch of flowers he’d settled in. “But I don’t think it would be easy for you to say...Maybe I should have a new one…”

Ah, so he had had another caretaker then. Arthur shudders at the thought. He was glad they were gone now whoever they were, and this boy as beloved as he was, would forget them. It only took him a moment to decide on a name for the child. It’s one he’d already been considering. “Alfred. Does that sound alright?”

Alfred smiles, a tired grin coming across his face as the first of the stars peaked through the night sky. “I like it.” He says quietly. “Can we go home now?”

So simple and innocent the mind of a child. Not understanding what the ramifications would be of this meeting. No idea how this would shape his life. He had simply stretched his arms upwards, releasing the captive rabbit, in a silent plea to be held. Without any hesitation Arthur picked him up and held him against his chest. That was all. The utter simplicity of the moment should have come as a surprise but it didn’t. Alfred was a child. He sought only a few things and one of those for now was comfort. He’d been alone for so long and Arthur had to admit he had been as well. For a moment, he even entertained the idea they would be a proper family.

Now, in a small home near the shoreline in some poor excuse for a settlement, Alfred rested in his lap. He’d gotten the boy cleaned up and wrapped in warm clothes and blankets. It hadn’t taken him long to fall asleep and for a moment Arthur allowed himself to think like that of a human. To enjoy this moment of holding a child, of being a protector and a guardian after seeking that bond for so long. He would be better at this than the others. Than his own mother. Than Rome. He would succeed where they had failed.

He would stay a season or two, let America grow and oversee the establishment of the colony and Alfred’s growth. He could not leave him to fend for himself at the moment he was too small. But as he watched the firelight dance he couldn’t help but think, small but strong. Alfred would be a capable young man before either of them knew it, an asset to the empire. But first and foremost always, his son. The British Empire had finally found his heir.

A child of the stars, who for now slept soundly as harmless as his beloved rabbits. But he would not stay that way always, and the world held its breath in fear. Or perhaps, startlingly, anticipation.

  


**1694**

**Boston, Massachusetts**

  


He hadn’t meant to be away so long. Truly he hadn’t. The boy was supposed to be the most important thing to him and yet...In the wake of everything he had fallen by the wayside somehow. The last time Arthur had seen Alfred in person was in 1630. He decided to move the boy to Boston for ease and safety...Though he supposed that hadn’t really mattered in the end. A civil war had swept his nation soon after and he couldn’t be bothered to leave in the middle of it. America was a strong boy; he would do fine on his own for a decade or two.

Of course now he was beginning to worry. As he walked the cobbled streets he began to hear whispers. Mostly of his own name spreading like wildfire. “Sir Lord Kirkland has returned-“ and more disturbingly “He’ll certainly talk some sense into the child.” It left him to wonder vaguely what his young colony had been up to and more so worry how he had been interacting with his people. If at all.

As he takes the steps to the front door he takes a moment to collect himself. He could handle whatever the issue was surely enough, if the child’s nannies hadn’t already solved it for him as they were supposed to. After all, what on earth was he paying them for? He gave a light knock at the door, refusing to get it himself.

He was greeted by a young fair haired woman, her frame slight and mostly hidden by the folds of her dress. She could easily pass as the boy’s mother but he certainly doesn’t remember hiring her- Oh...Well he supposed they were human…It made sense that a replacement would have been found when the last became unsuitable. 

“Oh- My lord...You’re…” she seemed stunned and this made him feel guilty for some reason. He himself did not realize that his presence haunted this home, a whispered name in the parlor late at night, kept from the ears of the distraught little boy who resided here alone. “You’re home.” She finishes her statement as she steps out of the way. Clearly reluctant.

Arthur didn’t waste time stepping past her, he never wasted time in anything. Almost boredly he examined the home, taking note that it appeared clean and warm. A suitable place for a child to be raised and that concluded his investigation. He hands her his coat and yet his eyes keep sweeping the hall. America had not yet come to greet him and he found this nearly unacceptable.

The young woman shifted her weight nervously and clasped her hands in front of her. “Sir? Might I go fetch the young master?” Only a disinterested nod was given in return. Something was quite wrong here and he was going to figure out just what it was surely. 

As she disappeared upstairs Arthur made his way into the parlor. There was still almost no sign that a child lived here. Well, children were to be seen and not heard. Though Alfred had never operated that way though he had tried to instill that value. Without warning, a loud thud could be heard from upstairs, and voices. The high shrill distress of a child making his mouth run dry.

“I do not wish to see him! I don’t!” A shudder runs down Britain’s spine at these words. Such venom from the mouth of a babe...And for what reason? Had he done nothing but show the boy love? He grips the arm of his chair tighter, knuckles going white. “Tell him to go! I want him to go!” The voices were getting closer, the two were on the stairs and the woman’s desperate pleading could be heard.

“Master Alfred please, just for a moment. If you behave I’ll take you for sweets later, yes?” Bribery? For one so small? What kind of trouble had this child of his been causing? He would not get to know as the next few seconds are filled with silence, and then the soft steps of a child.

When America stepped into the room Britain was forced to withhold a gasp. He had grown. How on earth had he grown already? He now looked to be around six or seven, carrying himself well and all on his own. Though he did struggle to push himself up into the opposite armchair, and his legs did not meet the floor. Nor did his eyes meet Arthur’s and when the empire looked for the young nanny’s help she was gone. Clearly she too did not want to deal with the lad.

“England. Why have you come?” So angry...Arthur almost feared he had done something. But that was preposterous he had nothing at all to answer for.

“Is it a crime to want to see you Alfred? I’ve missed you you know.” The boy’s look soured even more, as if he’d taken a bite out of a lemon.

“America. I don’t want you to call me Alfred. Only  _ people  _ call me Alfred.”

Arthur very nearly chokes on nothing. Horror alighting his face. The boy would retract his human name? Tell him he could not use it? He is forced to calm himself. The boy doesn’t understand the gravity of it yet, and there is clearly an underlying issue here.

“I gave you the name, I think I can very much call you whatever I’d like, boy.” At this the nanny reappeared, her hands full with a tray for tea. Arthur turns to her, expecting to be served first, but she attends the boy. She kneels at his level and gently puts a hand to his cheek as she speaks in soft tones. 

He can’t really make it out, but when Alfred looks at her his eyes are soft and full of a respect he clearly wasn’t affording Arthur. It made him bitter and when she eventually hands him his cup he shoos her away. Alfred is clearly displeased with that and yet...Now Arthur can see it.

That innocence was the thing that was missing. He had a look about him once more that no child should ever hold and it chilled him. Was it ever real? Perhaps Alfred was a better actor than all of them. “You appear to be unhappy with me lad. Might I inquire as to what has troubled you?” He was poking a sleeping bear he knows. But he can’t go on with the boy glaring holes into him.

It’s a long moment before Alfred replies, he simply stares into his cup with deeply etched unhappiness. Finally, when he does speak it’s in a softer tone than before. Scared almost.

_ “They hanged me…” _

Britain’s blood ran cold. Everything seemed to stop. He understood now. What the child had been through. Where he may have failed. Alfred’s tiny hands shook around his teacup, his eyes and cheeks were reddening quickly as he struggled to hold back tears. Images filled his mind. Things that he didn’t want to see. He had been hanged an insurmountable amount of times himself. He knew the panic and pain if one’s neck did not snap immediately. And yet still the babe continued. 

“They called me a witch. Last year in the fall. They said I was a witch because I didn’t ever get older.” Tears were spilling down his cheeks now and Arthur could not force himself to look away. “And I tried. I tried to tell them I would never do such a thing! Ms. Madeline always takes me to church on Sunday but they wouldn’t listen!”

He bid the boy to stop. He did not want to hear it. He did not want to think of any failure he had made as a parent. A failure as a nation. For this little one had no true clue who he was.  _ What  _ he was. But he continues on.

“Only it didn’t work. It didn’t work and I...I just hung there!” He wails clearly distraught at even remembering. Now Arthur remembered hearing something of this. The town of Salem...Not far from here. They had been hanging witches not a year ago. He hadn’t even considered how close the boy was…

Alfred did fall silent now, wiping his eyes with tiny fists and sniffling so hard his small chest heaved. “Why England...Why can’t I be like them! Why do I have to stay like this forever!?”

_ Why can’t I die… _

The British empire had no good answer for that and it filled him with a slight sullenness. They all had this phase but he understands now that Alfred did not know what they were. He places his cup aside and opens his arms to the boy and without much hesitation Alfred flew to his side.

“You won’t be like this forever love…” he says running a hand through Alfred’s hair. “I know it’s hard to see now. But you are my son, my heir, and you will grow. Things will not always be so scary.”

America hiccups and hides his face against Britain’s chest. “But I will never be like them! Because they  _ leave _ ! Like my last nannies! And Davie…” Humans. His child had been making friends with humans in his absence. He should have foreseen it. The boy was quite isolated out here. What with France’s brat to the north and Spain’s tight grip on the south...There were few options for companionship.

“Well...They die dear.”

“Die? Is that what that is? When they go away?”

Arthur nods solemnly. “Yes. Humans die. They don’t live as long as you or I. Which is why it’s best not to get attached to them. They’re delicate. They grow old, frail, their bodies simply cannot handle the passage of time. You will never do that.”

Alfred frowns, having gone painfully quiet at the explanation. “Why not? Why not me?”

“Because you are a Nation, and Nations are needed. You must guide them, protect them, represent them. In some ways you must teach them. It is quite an important job, we must live a long time because of it. But you will never do it alone, I promise you Alfred...I will  _ always  _ be here for you.”

Alfred does not answer. Arthur can almost see the tiny cogs in his mind turning. Thinking through and understanding all that he had failed to see before in his innocence.

Death was always something that would plague their kind. The sooner he learned to avoid it the better. The sooner he learned they were better than that...The more he was likely to survive.

What Arthur Kirkland doesn’t realize however is that Alfred is not contemplating existence. That was easy for him to grasp. But rather it was the promise that made him silent. Face hidden yet sadly indifferent. To him, that promise had been broken long ago.


	2. A Storm Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The air smelled crisp as it wafted in from the open window, earthy and wet like right before a storm. Alfred thinks it’s quite fitting as he stands before it, drawing the bow across his violin to create sharp lilting tones. He watches the wind ruffle the field outside, feeling it hit his face and blow the soft white curtains around him. They had moved out of the city a year ago, Father said it was giving him ideas. But even here, in the quiet tranquility of the late afternoon he can feel it. Pain through every fiber of his body, such as he has never felt. They need him, his people, his children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following text may contain information and events that are troubling to some viewers such as: Child abuse, child abandonment, the Boston massacre, verbal domestic abuse, the prelude to the American revolution. If you find any of this to be upsetting in any way please turn away. Otherwise thank you and enjoy.

**1763**

**Canadian/American Border**

February was cold, it was always cold. Wind whipped across the muddy field causing America to draw his coat tighter around him. As if he could just block it out if he tried hard enough. His eyes scan the terrain around them, barren and empty as no human soldier had dared to accompany them much to Alfred’s dismay. Being alone with his father for any extended period of time could prove to be problematic. But it was him he looked to now, gently reaching to tug at his coat sleeve.

“Father what if they don’t show? Didn’t you ask them to be here an hour ago?” His voice still holds the whiny tinge of a child, fitting for his small lanky form, now a boy of eleven. He tugs at his own collar looking pained and uncomfortable. He didn’t even understand why he had to be here, Britain never involved him with the dealings of the empire before. He could be home in Boston right now, the household was surely missing him. Though he wouldn’t dare voice that to his father, the man had a certain detestment for his human caretakers.

Britain looked down at him disapproval in his eyes and America felt himself shrink back in shame. But it was too late to take the words back. “Quiet boy of course they’ll be here.” His father snaps placing a hand on his shoulder to keep him from squirming about. “Now behave yourself, or do you not want to see your brother?”

The truth was Alfred was hesitant, and that made him feel guilty. His eyes focus on the ground watching an earthworm inch its way by his boot. He knows Arthur had brought him here because Canada was his brother, and that he should feel excited but he honestly doesn’t. He was quite used to being an only son, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t want siblings...He had always been lonely. But it had been over a century since he had seen Canada, and they hadn’t been particularly close before they were separated. For father’s sake however he would try and get along with him.

There wasn’t much longer to wait and as Alfred kicked dirt silently into a pile he felt Britain tense at his side. He glances up curiously and his face splits into a grin. He would try to hide it but he was too excited. He knows France is technically an enemy, and he’s not supposed to speak with him...But the man was nice so he didn’t care. He was much more approachable than Lord Father that was for sure. He gives a little wave that is returned by the sullen man making his way over to them. His glee is short lived however as Arthur gently swats his hand down. “Stay here boy, I’ll be right back.”

He can’t see what they’re saying, Britain had made his way to meet France in the middle. But France did not look good. He seemed tired and in pain, which caused Alfred to fidget nervously with his coat sleeves. He understood war, or he thought he did. Truly he only understood it as much as any eleven year old human boy could. Arthur had kept him far from the fighting though there had been a few close calls. He had learned not to trust all the house staff with that one. But he didn’t yet understand the weight that war places on their kind. All he knew was the glory and strength that came with it.

They’re shouting now...They always shout. But this time it feels different. France seems different. His voice is higher, his words more frantic. Alfred backs away, feeling the age old urge to dart off into the woods. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to watch his father bully the other man any longer. Why couldn’t they all just get along? Wouldn’t everything be better that way? However a shrill screech stops him in his tracks and he makes eye contact with Canada for the first time since he could remember.

Arthur had grabbed the boy by the arm, to pull him away from France’s side. That is what had caused the scream that had so startled Alfred. He watches as his brother clings to his caretaker’s leg but he does not weep. In fact it is France who is behaving more like a child with red eyes and a tear stained face. Alfred didn’t even realize he was inching closer out of curiosity. 

“Angleterre...Don’t. Please. _Arthur!_ ” Alfred feels his heart stutter. No one called his father that. No one. The humans knew him as Sir Lord Kirkland, and other nations called him Britain. To him he was Lord Father or England...For a moment he genuinely worried for the man. Arthur had a nasty temper after all as Alfred had on more than one occasion discovered the hard way. But it doesn’t come. Britain’s shoulders slump and he releases the grip on Canada.

“You know he has to leave. He’s better off with me anyway you know it, you cannot even afford to care for him. Besides this way he’ll be with his brother. They’ve been separated long enough.” It was greed talking, even as young as he was, Alfred knew that. His father had a certain look to him that made him question that however. Could that be pity?

“And would you not do the same? For your boy!? For Christ’s sake look at him Arthur! You’re scaring them both!” He was almost offended. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t scared of anything!

Britain looks back at him, and then again towards France. “Let the boy go. We’ve drawn this out long enough.”

Goodbyes didn’t last long and as Alfred watched from a distance he wonders what it must feel like. He couldn’t even imagine leaving the empire...Arthur was far from perfect, but he was better than a stranger. He was still his father.

Eventually France leaves, and Arthur returns, Canada at his side. The other boy looks a bit older than himself, maybe twelve or thirteen and shivering against the cold. His eyes bore straight into Alfred, deep set and rich violet against his pale face. It unsettled him. To America, they looked nothing alike. The other child held something he could not yet place, for he knew very little of hatred.

“America, this is your brother Canada. He’ll be living with you for now.” Britain says as he moves the boy to stand in front of him, hands at his shoulders.

“Matthieu.” His voice is cold, quiet, and accented.

“Matthew…? Huh...I do remember France mentioning that at some point.” Arthur disregarded the pronunciation entirely, not that Alfred really noticed. But Matthew did. Clearly he did. Because the look on his face crushed the small grin on Alfred’s.

“Alfred…” he says, holding out his hand as father had taught him. “It’s...It’s good to see you again.”

Matthew takes his hand but does not say a word. His eyes do all the talking. The feeling was not mutual.

**1770**

**Boston Massachusetts**

Alfred let’s the curtains slip between his fingers, allowing them to fall closed over a frosted window. The house is held in a deathly silence, Matthew in front of the fire, and father in his study. But he can feel it regardless, a dull ache in his chest that causes him to wince and rub at it with the heel of his palm. It was always like this now, when _he_ visited. Matthew seemed not to notice but Alfred had no choice but to.

He slumps into one of the armchairs, watching the lamps flicker at the force. He was getting larger now, growing quicker but for what reason he didn’t know. He still remembers his father’s shock at opening the door to a fifteen year old instead of the eleven year old he was expecting. Not that it was really that big of a stretch, it had been seven years. Which meant he was aging almost yearly now...That wasn’t so bad was it? Who was he kidding? He knows it is. He and his people were preparing for something and he did not yet want to know what.

As he leans back and runs a hand through his hair he feels Matthew’s eyes on him. Hidden behind spectacles now. Since he’d turned sixteen he’d been blind as a bat, Alfred hoped he didn’t follow in his footsteps. “Would you settle down? You’re going to unsettle the whole house and you know how father gets when he’s disturbed.”

America makes a face, clearly uncaring for Britain and his work. In truth he did not even want the man here. Because they both knew _why_ he was. He was not an attentive father. He did not wish to check on his children out of love and devotion. No. He too sensed the unrest that Matthew was pretending to ignore. Alfred was quite sure it was pretending too, because they had both been there to see it. The colonists grew ever weary and so did America’s heart.

“If he wishes to have words with me then I’ll allow it. You and I both know it is not unwarranted to be worried when his very presence upsets everyone.” Matthew simply stabs at the coals with a poker at the response. He was clearly displeased. He wasn’t one to find fault in anything their father did, or when he did he elected to ignore it. Alfred did not truly understand why, after all Arthur had never done a damn thing to deserve it.

“Not everyone Alfred. Why do you insist on this stubbornness? Have you not sensed the tone of the house. It’s as if you want to fight. I for one hope he knocks some good sense into you.” He says this as if Arthur wouldn’t. As if he _hadn’t_. Not all of the bruises were even healed yet.

“Of course you would call this foolishness when it’s clearly a matter of survival.” He says, tone soft. He loved his brother, truly he did. But sometimes he could be beyond difficult. He taps his fingers against the fabric of the chair, watching the contrast of warm tanned skin against dark maroon. It reminds him of blood. So much does these days.

“Survival? You’ve always been so over dramatic Alfred. No one is hurting you except yourself.” His brother has fully turned to look at him. Almost an honor. Tearing Matthew from the flames was so often an impossible feat that they let him sleep there. “You just need to relax. This will pass, you will be fine. You always are.” He could be imagining things but he swore he could hear malice in that statement. 

He leans forward again, resting his arms against his legs so he can look Matthew in his eyes. “You think I’m being over dramatic? You think perhaps I am over exaggerating the seriousness of the sons of liberty and what they’ve done? The fear they’re spreading-“ he shutters but it isn’t entirely of fright. He remembers well the heat of the flames that engulfed Andrew Oliver’s office not two years prior. Like a warmth in his own chest...He would not forget it. “-Matthew they would not hesitate to kill a man. What father has done...They’re upset and rightfully so.”

“Careful brother.” Matthew’s voice holds an edge. A warning that he did not share in Alfred’s excitement. “You almost sound like one of them. You wouldn’t want to give the impression you were after independence after all.” He says it like a curse, something dirty that must not leave the parlor or the halls of this house.

He looks away, down at his hands now curled in his lap. It’s not true. He doesn’t want independence because he loves his family more than anything. He wanted father to be proud of him. But he supposed what he wanted most of all was to be seen as an equal. As a person who had the right to stand next to the empire and not behind. Surely Matthew could understand that? Right? Perhaps not. Perhaps he was comfortable in Arthur’s shadow.

But he had to ask himself. Was he? The bruises across his cheek and ribs said no. The burning in his heart said no. But he wasn’t sure what he could do about it. He couldn’t leave his family.

“Independence? No. But a little respect would be nice don’t you think? We’re hardly boys anymore Matthew!” Matthew seemed unimpressed with the statement. His eyes are narrowed and his face is pinched in that way it got when he ate something he didn’t like.

“You’re right. You’re not. So maybe start acting like it. You want respect from father yet you do nothing to deserve it. You sit here and whine and cry and make things hard on all of us!” Matthew stands then and Alfred realizes perhaps he has made a mistake. His brother looked ghostly in the firelight but those eyes could bore into his soul. “You’re not going to get respect when all you do is badger him.”

Somehow this upset him even more. As if all of this was his own fault when all he’d wanted was a father who loved him?! As if he didn’t try his hardest every moment to make him proud only to be ignored? “You’re wrong!” He sniffs voice starting to rise. “This is not my fault! It’s him who refuses to listen! I try my hardest for this family, it’s all I think about! Every waking moment I focus on making that wretched old man proud!”

“Silence!” Matthew’s fist hits the wall and the portraits hanging there rattle. “Do you even hear yourself!? You border on treason! Father is right you are throwing a tantrum and I won’t hear it any longer! Grow up Alfred! What will you do? Leave? Fight him?”

At this Alfred rises from his chair as if pulled angrily. With an angry motion he sends an end table to the floor, trying to release the energy he can feel buzzing through his bones. “And if I did?! What say you to that brother of mine!? What would you do then if I told you with all my heart I cannot reside in this house any longer?”

Matthew stares at the toppled table. Almost boredly, condescendingly. “You won’t leave. You can’t leave. What of the empire? You’re the heir Alfred.” It’s said with a vicious sneer. As if mocking how very trapped he was and reveling in the idea that the title made him miserable. “Do you forget you are to be Lord Alfred Kirkland? Do you forget that father will have no one else in your place? This is where we belong. Now clean this mess up and act your age.”

America bristles at this, eyes dancing now with their own dangerous flame. “You do not order me around. I am not your child and I am not your subordinate no matter how much you wish it.” He reached over and gripped his brother’s shoulder with more anger than kindness. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you but I have never been your enemy! You are my brother, I love you. What I want for myself I want for you! You speak as if you get no respect so demand it! You speak of my titles you cannot claim then do something about it! I myself don’t want them so if it’s so important to you you can have them!” He hadn’t realized he was shouting until he roughly shoved Matthew away from him. 

Matthew stumbles and almost falls, Alfred had forgotten his strength again and pushed too hard. “You can’t abandon it Alfred! It doesn’t work that way! You are the heir! You are the favorite son! Don’t you see- You’re allowing this to be fueled! If you would just publicly announce your loyalty this would be over!”

“If you think for a moment I am going to announce my loyalty for him _now_ of all times- _Do you wish to see me hanged-_ “

“What is the meaning of this?” Father’s voice is a knife that cuts through the parlor. The look in his eyes is one of carefully concealed rage. He’d heard. How much Alfred does not know but the last part certainly. He feels more fear now than he has ever felt in all his life. He shrinks back as if somehow that would hide him, and he feels glass pop under his boot. A cup from the table he had knocked over.

Arthur keeps his eyes on him and Alfred does not move as the older man walks across the room to check on his brother. Upon realizing the other colony was not at all injured he waved him off with a dismissive gesture. “Leave us now Matthew. Your brother and I need to have a discussion about loyalty.” No. No. He couldn’t do this. A conversation didn’t mean the same to father as it did everyone else. He wouldn’t get a word in at all.

Matthew glances between the two of them, and Alfred turns to look at him with pleading eyes. Perhaps his brother would take pity on him. If he stayed it was sure to not be as bad. But Canada simply smiles, vicious and satisfied. He was happy to be the one being defended for once. “Of course father. I apologize for the yelling.” Arthur didn’t even speak to him as he left, eyes simply trained on Alfred who was still somehow standing tall.

“I don’t know what you heard-“

“I heard enough.” The empire says holding up a hand to silence him. “Do you think me a fool America?” Oh. He was certainly in trouble then wasn’t he. “Well?! Answer me boy!” It hadn’t taken long for him to start yelling. But this time something is different. He does not feel the need to tuck tail and run.

“And if that answer was to be yes? You know I love you, that I have the utmost devotion to you and the empire. It is your actions I cannot abide by.” He knew not where his words came from but once they had left him there was only the soft crackling of the fire left for company. His father smiles, and some children may have taken comfort in that. But not Alfred.

“You think yourself grown, is that it? You no longer have need of me and so you do not respect me.” The cane in his hands taps the wooden floors threateningly. Alfred watches it with known fear and feels his ribs ache again. “Where would you be without me Alfred? I who provides for you, protects you, loves you more than any nation could ever love you. What else do you think is out there? I’ll tell you. Nothing boy. There is nothing. Except hard cruel people who will rip you to pieces and laugh.”

That’s not true. He knows that’s not true. But he can’t tell him how long he’s known. How trade with the Dutch had been going on far longer than any of the household knew. How he often wrote to France of the sleepless nights and the suffering endured in this household. Haunted his old nanny used to say. And she would be right. Haunted by Arthur Kirkland and his greed. 

“You think you are helping me?” His voice wavers. Because he knows it’s a lie. Arthur must know he’s not helping. “You think what you are doing is helping?! You think by taxing us to death you’re helping? Or perhaps the rioting caused by your men? _Or perhaps my people yours killed!_ Perhaps that was helping father! Their blood on the snow as I watched this past month! A boy barely older than myself dead over your need for respect!”

He remembers. Not one face did he forget as they laid in the snow. Some had died instantly the minute the soldiers broke and fired. He would not shirk responsibility. That crowd had been pushing for a shot since early that morning. But it was these conditions that pushed them to it. They needed a reason to fight because the ones they had were so thoroughly invalidated.

“You listen to me boy. This is foolish and we both know it.” Arthur seethes. “It is not me who does these things to you, it is your own unwillingness to cooperate. That bloody nonsense would not have happened had your people remained civil-“

_“He was a child!”_ Oh. He’s yelling again. “You’ve killed so many of us Father, when will it stop! They starve and freeze and die and there is nothing I can do! You tax them so they die in their homes, you shoot them in the streets! What are we to do when we get no say? What am I to do when I love you so but get nothing in return? No voice of my own and never a place at your side? And in reality it’s always been this way I’m _tired_ ! If you want me to fend for myself then I shall but do not make it impossible for me to do so! _You aren’t helping me, you're killing me!”_

_Crack._

The force of the blow registers before the pain does and Alfred topples slightly. He’s forced to reach out and steady himself against the wall as it clicks what happened. Arthur had struck him. Of course he had. It doesn’t surprise him. He cups his cheeks and feels the heat radiating from what he knows is an ugly red mark. He’d sported them enough lately.

“You listen to me and you listen well.” His father grits out as he shakes out his smarting hand. “You are my son. My colony. You will do as I say when I say it because it is for the greater good of this empire and ultimately your betterment. You will _never_ question my judgement or the king’s ruling again. I expect better from you America. Now go. I do not wish to see you the rest of the evening.”

The conversation is over. But the feeling isn’t gone. The burning sensation in his chest has only grown, and one thought radiates in his mind.

_Freedom. One way or another he would have it._

**1775**

**The Commonwealth of Massachusetts**

The air smelled crisp as it wafted in from the open window, earthy and wet like right before a storm. Alfred thinks it’s quite fitting as he stands before it, drawing the bow across his violin to create sharp lilting tones. He watches the wind ruffle the field outside, feeling it hit his face and blow the soft white curtains around him. They had moved out of the city a year ago, Father said it was giving him ideas. But even here, in the quiet tranquility of the late afternoon he can feel it. Pain through every fiber of his body, such as he has never felt. They need him, his people, his children.

And deep down he knows he needs to go. But he tells himself just one more moment, just one more day. It’s not just the coming rain he can feel in the air, but change. He fears it, he anticipates it. He watches it come with helpless eyes. They marched on Lexington and Concord last night. He had known even before the messenger boy risked it all to bring him the news. His father’s eyes had burned into his back as he opened the door. But he’d said nothing. What was there to say? Nothing. They had been trying and failing to salvage what was left of this family for years now.

Instead of focusing on it any longer he starts in on another song, closing his eyes against the scenery in the meanwhile. The notes are a quiet escape from the world around him. He didn’t want to think about Father upstairs, or wherever Matthew had gotten off to. Things had only grown worse lately, more distant. He wondered if this happened to all of their kind at one point or another...Perhaps he had been naive to think things could last forever. He always seemed to fall for that trap didn’t he? Because he didn’t like change when it left him alone. What was the point of progress if he had no one to share it with? No one to be proud of him. 

He is reminded painfully of Davie, the first human he’d ever gotten attached to. Images of his own tiny hands clasped around the forget me not come unbidden to his mind along with memories of helpless confusion. That is what this felt like, he knew not how it happened but he had to learn from it regardless. In truth he had been preparing himself for it for a while; a world without Britain’s guiding hand tight on his shoulder. This was not quite the same shock as death, though something was dying surely.

Slowly he stills his hands, and lowers his bow. The moment he opens his eyes is when the sky breaks and the rain comes down, soaking the world below. His own face reflects it. Stormy eyes that under normal circumstances were a bright and wondrous blue watch as his brother makes his way up the path. Placing the violin aside he does what he knows Matthew will surely scold him for. He sticks his head out the open window to catch the rain upon his face. As the wind whips his hair about he smiles just slightly. Yes. Soon. Probably tonight.

He leans back inside and closes the window just as he hears the front door slam. Clearly just in time as a soaking Matthew storms his way into the room to light the fire. He almost doesn’t notice Alfred at first, but when he does he stares with clear displeasure.

“You’re soaked.” he says, making a face as he removes his coat to put on the hook.

Alfred shrugs and tucks his violin away in it’s case, his hands caressing the wood just a moment longer than needed. He would not be seeing it for a while he knew well. “So are you. I don’t really see your point.”

Matthew rolls his eyes “I was running an errand for Father, what’s your excuse? And for god’s sake tie your hair back you look a mess.” Hm, how hypocritical of him. Really Alfred couldn’t be bothered to be upset. Somehow he kept his calm.

“I suppose I don’t have one. How’s the general?” he hums as he sits down to rosin his bow. He wasn’t even looking to see the look of horror on his brother’s face. He knew that he and father did not want him knowing of the military affairs.

“Sir Howe is fine. Not that you much care.”

He shrugs yet again but still does not look up. Matthew was right, he didn’t much care. But he didn’t want to fight, not today. “I have nothing against the man Mattie. He’s a good person I suppose.”

Matthew scowls as he sits across from him but hesitates as Alfred looks up at him. Alfred fancies he can see it too. He doesn’t realize that he can. That the tone of the nation is so easily displayed on his face. “Matthew.” Canada snaps but not as harshly as clearly planned. “You know I hate it when you call me Mattie.”

Alfred closes his eyes with a sigh and nods. That’s right. Terms of affection weren’t well received from him anymore. “Ah...Yeah I’ll keep that in mind.” Really he would. If things went well tonight he would really try his best not to annoy his brother in the future.

His eyes focus on the window, watching the road in the distance with interest and Matthew follows his gaze. “Expecting someone?” It sounds tense, worried. Alfred smiles to put him to ease as he puts his bow away.

“No. Just watching the rain. It’s always nice.” he reaches for the ribbon he’d left on the table and ties his hair back as he speaks. “Kind of fitting for the mood I guess.”

Matthew looked away, he clearly didn’t want to talk about it. But it was all Alfred _did_ want to talk about. Why was it such a crime in this household to acknowledge reality? They all knew what had been happening the past few days; it was no secret. However Matthew is saved by the soft sound of their housekeeper’s voice.

She’s an older woman, who’s been with them since Matthew joined the household. Originally she had been hired to pose as the boys’ mother as so many others before her had. But soon enough they hadn’t needed that anymore. But Alfred couldn’t stand to see her leave, he cared for her like one would a parent, so he continued to offer a place in the home and payment to stay.

“Master Alfred, the table is set, might you go fetch your father?” She didn’t want to. None of the house staff wanted to. Speaking with Arthur was a task humans and nations alike agreed was tedious. Which is why Alfred glanced at Matthew to push the job off on him. Wordlessly his brother rose and slipped from the room like a ghost. Alfred watches him go, then rises tiredly to follow Anne into the kitchen. 

Where he was countless lifetimes older than her, he respected her greatly. It was another thing he and his father had a differing of opinions on. Alfred believed they had a lot to learn from humans, and still held the childish wish to be like one. Which is why it broke his heart when she untied her apron and turned to him with a serious almost scolding look.

“Tonight then?” she questions without even bothering to clarify. Alfred could not meet her eyes, instead he focused on the tiled floor beneath their feet.

“How did you know?” he asks like a guilty child. He hadn’t even made his mind up yet.

She smiles but it’s sad “It’s written all over your face boy. And I may or may have not found your letter to France while I was cleaning.” His eyes widen with horror but she simply chuckles and removes the sealed envelope from her dress pocket. “Send it quickly, I cannot bear the thought of you out there without someone to look after you.”

He opens his mouth to speak, eyes brimming with tears he knows are childish and unsightly; but she simply shoos him out of the kitchen. “Go on now. Your father is waiting. Good luck Alfred. It’s been an honor to raise such a fine young man.” And he knows she means it, it reminds him that no matter what his people will be there for him. Which meant he had to be there for them in return. So with head held high he enters the dining room and sits to his father’s right without fear for the first time since he was young.

“Last one to the table again Alfred?” Arthur comments idly. Alfred says nothing, only attends to his food.

“I was helping Anne in the kitchen.”

The empire sniffed and shook his head “The woman can handle the kitchen, it's her job Alfred.”

Alfred could feel Matthew’s eyes on them, probably anticipating a fight. “Well that doesn’t mean I can’t help.” Was all he left it at.

No sooner had he swallowed his first bite of bread there came a knock at the door. Not now. Why now. His face resembles the white of the table cloth as he turns to look Arthur in the eye.

“I’ll get it.” He leaves no room to argue but the scraping of chairs accompanies him out of the room. Of course they would follow. They didn’t trust him, and admittedly for good reason.

Out in the rain stands a young man, letter in hand. His eyes grow wide with a childish awe and for a moment Alfred thinks it’s because Arthur is standing behind him in the entryway. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s for him. Apparently the few meetings he had attended with the sons of liberty had been enough to get word of him to even kids like this.

“Ah...Mr. Jones…” Alfred flinches, Arthur did not yet know of that. “Mr. Franklin is asking for you.” This was expected. He’d been waiting for it…

“I see.” He says calmly “Does he request we leave this evening?” The boy nods, wringing his hands. Clearly he had finally noticed Arthur and Matthew.

“Yes sir, he feels it would be...Unwise…For you to stay in your current guardianship.” The boy says looking over Alfred’s shoulder. Heh...That was bound to upset Arthur.

“Of course. I’ll be out shortly.” He felt bad closing the door on the boy but he would certainly not want to see the fallout of their short conversations.

There is a beat of silence. A calm before the storm. And then all hell breaks loose.

“Jones?! What the bloody hell is this about boy?” He hadn’t been struck though and that was the miraculous thing. Arthur would not dare hit him with a human on the other side of the door who would not turn a blind eye. Alfred almost seemed proud as he kept calm and folded his arms behind his back.

“You think I could continue carrying your last name? It wasn’t safe. Besides...It tied me to _you_.” He knows it sounds nasty, and in some ways that is what makes it satisfying. “Taking a new one was simply beneficial.” He wished Arthur would simply show the hurt he felt.

But it wasn’t even him that spoke next, it was Matthew. “And what of the lordship? The fact that you’re the heir to the empire? Would you rebuke that too? You can’t have it both ways Alfred.” Was it just him or did he hear a tinge of hopefulness in his brother’s voice?

He shakes his head “I would renounce any title that gave me such power over others. Especially one I did not earn. In fact I would do away with such things entirely!” Yes. When he was free those titles would be no more and he would never again have to carry the weight of his father’s world.

But Arthur just sneers “So this is it then? You think you can just march off to war. _With me?!_ A boy of fifteen? It’ll eat you alive Alfred so you stop this foolishness now and send that wretch away.”

“America.”

“Excuse me…?” He looked offended. Alfred almost laughed in his face. He wanted to, he was hurting. But he didn’t, because somewhere deep down he still loved him.

“America. I don’t want you calling me Alfred anymore. Or your son.”

That was it, they all felt it. Like something had cracked and finally shattered under the strain. Alfred felt no fear looking into the empire’s eyes. He held no sway over him now, and the flames licking at the man’s irises were surely mirrored in his own. A boy he may be, but he was not helpless and would never be again.

“Alfred Frederick Kirkland. You cannot do this. Your place is here, by my side. You cannot sever the ties just like that.” But they both knew he could. There was nothing between them, or at least they could pretend there wasn’t due to the absence of blood. “You are _mine_. Nothing you do will ever change that. I will not allow you to do this.” It feels desperate and Alfred doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before. He would win this war. Surely.

“You will allow me to do nothing. I am nothing to you, perhaps I have always been. I see that now and I am not a fool. I will not stay where I am not wanted. I am nothing but a conquest to you, to all the others who would have come for me had you not...I will be free. No one will harm m ever again. _And I will never be you.”_ Love. A foriegn concept, perhaps one impossible for their kind. But he felt that couldn’t be true. Because he loved with such reckless abandon, bright and warm as the world that breathed life into him. All he knew for certain is that his father did not love him truly. He may want to, he may pretend to. But it was not Alfred he loved, it was the idea of him. And he would no longer be reduced to that. To land, to an idea, to the silently weeping child in some barren field wondering why he was alone.

He had perhaps stunned the British Empire to silence and so he turned to Matthew then, boots creaking against the floorboards. “And you…? Do you not feel the same?” he knew he did. He could see it in his face. But perhaps there was also something else he had not calculated for. Matthew is looking at him with hostility but also glee. As if he had expected this all along and knew something Alfred did not.

“You wish me to come with you? To urge my people into revolution that will only serve them ill? You _are_ a fool brother and you’ll see that soon enough. I will not forsake _my_ empire for a child’s venture. But I wish you the most luck, and perhaps I shall weep when they send your corpse back in a wooden box.”

He wishes he could say he wasn’t hurt, or that he was surprised. But he wasn’t. So he simply smiled sadly and forced back the tears. He would hold his head high, and in that moment he looked all the boy king he was always meant to be. Young, painfully so, and he did not know yet where that would lead him. But what was their existence if not painful?

“I see...Well. The lordship is yours then. Lord Matthew Kirkland does sound nice. Good luck, and I hope when you see me again you will understand why I had to do this.” He meant every word. He wants no hostilities harbored. This was not a fight between them, but that’s not how their world worked was it?

“America-” Ah, Arthur had found his voice. This...This was personal. Despite the love he felt for the man he wanted to see him burn. Some part of him wanted to hear him beg for forgiveness...Young war god that he was, receiving his first taste of power. “- I forbid you to walk out that door. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Will you stop me? No. I don’t think so. This has been a long time coming, _father_. It’s time you realize that what you don’t appreciate will ultimately leave you in the end. And when I win, because I will, you will leave and I will never again ask or expect anything of you. You are damned and I am not, may you suffer that fate alone and drag no one else down with you.”  
Though he had said nothing funny England threw back his head and laughed. “Stupid boy you don’t see at all. Fine, by all means go then. But I shall drag you back by your collar when this is all said and done. Perhaps then you’ll see what I have apparently sheltered you from. You are just the same as I.”

Alfred recoils then, like he’d been scalded by the words. His eyes are alight with horror as he speaks again. “No. I will be their savior, all you bring is death...I will never return to you. I will take nothing of you with me. You can keep your name, your titles...Everything. Goodbye Britain, I pray we don’t meet again but we will...And I will show you the truth _you_ have failed to see. _I am your child no longer.”_

He would leave no time for a response, feeling satisfaction from getting the last word. He throws the door open and steps out. It feels for the first time he can breathe as the wind and rain pelters his body soaking it to the bone. _Freedom._ The boy waiting outside looks at him with perhaps even more awe than before, whether that was from overhearing his words inside, or the confidence that rolled off the new nation in waves was debatable.

His horse had been saddled for him, and they would leave this evening. As he swung up onto the mare’s back he took one last look at the house and it’s now darkened windows. It looked as if it were in mourning. Fitting. He would be happy if he never returned to it again. Without a second thought he turned and raced down the road. As if he moved too slow it all would catch up with him again.

_I will always be here for you._

A lie.

_You used to be so great…_

And one truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone; I wanted to thank you for continuing to follow the story. If you have any questions, comments, criticisms, or concerns feel free to voice them!


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